A bit of trivia: Jim and I were “married” twice.

Because our families lived on opposite sides of the continent, none of his family or friends were able to make it to our official, licensed wedding on August 23, 1997, on my parents’ deck in upstate New York. We’d decided on the date and orchestrated a very simple ceremony in only six weeks, because we realized we just didn’t want to wait, when we both already knew we wanted to be married (there was some speculation that I was pregnant, but Jeremiah, our eldest, didn’t make his arrival until 2001).

But we didn’t want to exclude his family, either. So, when our season at the Grand Canyon was over, we made a leisurely trip through Arizona and California, then up the Oregon coast and inland to Eugene – and, on Thanksgiving Day, when his whole family could be there, we were unofficially married again by Jim’s uncle, who was a minister.

For our first ceremony, I found non-traditional vows in a wedding book. They fit our love: they began, “I promise to be your lover, companion, and friend. Other lines included being one anothers’ best ally in adversity and fiercest adversary, accomplice in mischief, and partner in parenthood.

We have been all those things to each other – imperfectly.

For the second wedding, Jim requested we use the traditional vows his uncle was comfortable with. There was a slight quibble over the word “obey”, which I would neither promise, nor allow Jim to promise me. Married people shouldn’t be cast in an obedience relationship – not if they’re going to be equal partners.

But I promised to love him and keep him, in sickness and in health, till death us did part – and I meant it.

I didn’t expect that, only 20 years later, I would be living the truth of those vows with a sickness that resulted in death, and which, along the way, rendered the man who stood beside me helpless as a newborn.

But when that time came, I’m proud to say that I gave myself to my vows. I’m a bit less proud that sometimes exhaustion, fear, frustration, and grief at all that was lost and would be lost meant that I did it all imperfectly and with less than a willing spirit – but, even then, I accept that I am, in the end, only a human being, and will err at times.

I would have happily honored those vows another forty years, if I could have – but I am intensely grateful for the years I was able to do so.

Join us again tomorrow, when we explore how when it’s over, that’s where it begins…

Published by shanjeniah

I am myself. I own my life, and live with three other people who own theirs. My intention is to do only those things that bring me joy, and to give myself wholly to those things I do.
Writing has been my passion throughout my life, and this will become the home for my writing life...because it brings me great joy!
View all posts by shanjeniah